Raising Humans is Hard
by meme-asaurus
Summary: Your name is Lisa Lapis Maheswaran-Universe, and despite your rather long, lustrous name, you have spent a great deal of your life feeling rather unremarkable.


**AN: Steven Universe is owned by Cartoon Network.**

Your name is Lisa Lapis Maheswaran-Universe, and despite your rather long, lustrous name, you have spent a great deal of your life feeling rather unremarkable. Sure, your father is a half-alien hybrid who spends his work days defending planet Earth, and sure, your mother is a successful doctor/swordfighter/combat medic, _and sure_ , your father's side of the family, a trio of immortal alien gemstones babysit you on a daily basis in order for your parents manage their complex, exciting life of world-saving/surgical work/actual parenting, _and SURE,_ your dad gave you a big, pink lion for your 13th birthday, but all this doesn't really help your case in the slightest. In fact, all these astounding qualities about your family only make you seem even more insignificant, because you, Lisa L. Maheswaran-Universe, are a 100% purebred, everyday human who's had asthma since she was four.

You supposed that you can't really complain. To be honest, you feel like you're not allowed to complain. Your mom constantly expresses that not being normal is dangerous. She carries that five-foot sword around for a reason. She also insists that you go to public school and learn all these _human_ things because Mom learned very quickly after marrying your dad that joining the Crystal Gems doesn't exactly have a paycheck or open career options. That doesn't seem to stop your little twin brothers, though. Bucky and Garret insist that they're going to help Dad save the world one day, despite being just as human as you are. Granted, they still go to school, but everyone, including Mom, is suspecting that they're getting terrible grades on purpose. They look incredibly immature when they play 'Dogcopters and Robbers' with Dad, but then again, they ARE seven. You yourself are turning fifteen in a few months.

That means that you aren't old enough to drive, so that consequently either means being picked up by your grandpa's embarrassingly dated van or on the back of Lion, the later giving you motion sickness. You beg Mom at least three times a month to buy a car, but she gives you're the same list of excuses again and again: The van is enough. Another car would mean facing today's gas prices. You don't see Grandpa enough anyway. Cars are expensive. Cars expel too much gas, and we're trying to _protect_ Earth. She told this already, Lisa; isn't this sinking in? Well, you're not convinced. She will break eventually.

In the meantime, you definitely can't walk to school. You go to Charm City High, and your dad's beach house is all the way over in (surprise, surprise) Beach City. Your family can travel thousands of miles in mere seconds via warp pads, but _conveniently_ there are no warp pads in Charm City. Or, so to say, inconveniently. Garnet says that whenever humans find a warp pad, they smash it to bits and dig it up so that they can build something on top of it, and cities are infamous for being built on top of things.

At school, even though you prefer to keep to yourself, everyone has something to say about you. Some students are highly skeptical that your family is magical. Well, right up until they see something like a pink lion, a purple teenager, or a pink lion and a purple teenager fighting off something that has eighteen heads, four of which breathe fire and the rest breathing… something that is not fire. (That was one hell of an eventful spring bake sale.) Other kids bask in your 'popularity,' begging you to recount your latest adventure. Except, of course, you don't go on adventures. You play clarinet. You're in the gymnastics team. You put your pants one leg at a time, just like everyone else. And like everyone else, you also deal with bullies. Some people like to think that Charm City High would be a better place without the Crystal Gems, and by large extension, you. You've had graffiti written on your locker once, saying that you should leave in a rather nasty way. The board of directors got an earful from Pearl about that. You didn't cry in school about it, but you cried in bed. Teachers do things like this, too. Not just the prejudice, but also the worshipping and the skepticism. At least they try to keep things, professional, though. _Okay class, this week we're going to write about your personal hero._ _For example, Lisa, why don't_ _you write about your father?_ Well, Ms. Peterson has obviously never seen Dad go to the beach in what he calls a 'man-thong,' or literally dress up like a clown for each of your and siblings' birthdays. A CLOWN, MS. PETERSON. YOU SWEAR THAT YOU'D DIE OF EMBARASSMENT IF IT HAPPENED MORE THAN TWICE A YEAR.

The puns, however, happen 7 days a week, 365 days a year. We won't even give out details. Just assume that Dad's jokes are the worst. The fact that even two people (i.e. Mom and Amethyst) laugh at Dad's jokes is beyond your powers of comprehension. Oh, and let's not get started on the dancing. You're not exactly sure how often a normal girl catches her parents dancing in the living room or whatever, but you're pretty sure it happens a lot more often if dancing happens to be a battle tactic or the ultimate form of alien intimacy. (Ew.)

You want a lot of things in life. You wish that your family could be normal like you. You also wish that you could be fantastic like your family. You wish that you could walk up to Jake Wattsburn and tell him how you feel. You wish that your best friend was a real person, and not some magic lion that doesn't talk. You wish that Dad would explain who you got your middle name from, but he gets all cryptic about it or changes the subject.

You suppose that you can't complain about Lion, though.

* * *

Your dad died today.

Well, not exactly. He took a rather nasty blow to the head and his physical body retreated into his body with what Amethyst described as a wet, squelching sound. The twins, Bucky and Garret are taking it the hardest. Maybe it's Pearl. She seems more scared than sad. She says that Dad never had to regenerate before and that she doesn't know what will happen. Dad's gem is resting on a pillow on the couch. Garnet set out some clothes that Dad could change into once he comes back.

And if Garnet's preparing for something, that means that it's going to happen, right? Right?

Mom took a sick day from the hospital to wait for him. That turned into a sick week. You and the twins only get one sick day. Every time you get back home, Mom looks that same: Her eyes are dry, yet red and puffy. She doesn't say anything unless she's spoken to, and it takes her about a second and a half to respond every time. Her voice has a thin rasp. Bags team up under her eyes. Usually Dad cooks, so your family order pizza nearly every night. Kiki, the store owner, has taken notice to this. Whenever she stops by, she asks you if you're all fine. Mom tells her that 'We'll get through it,' and pays her with some crumpled bills. You're not sure what Mom exactly does all day without work and the twins to eat up her time, but you sometimes catch her sitting at the couch by Dad's gem, watching reruns of _Under the Knife_ on FlixFiles. Grandpa Universe joins her forward from Day Three.

Its past 3:00 AM when it happens. You and the twins were asleep at the time, but not for long. Gasps and screams shake you awake. Lion, who has slept next to you even before Dad gave him to you, has already left to see what the commotion is about. You drag your blanket on your shoulders like a heavy cape as we make the short trip downstairs, still half-awake and unaware what's happening. You drop your blanket numbly when you see it. Your glazed eyes widen as your jaw opens lower than you thought was anatomically possible.

It's her.

It's the woman in the painting you had hanging above your house's entrance since before you could even remember. You've heard Pearl tell stories about Rose Quartz. Basically, she was like dad, only more graceful and more hair. Her dress, so white that it glows, brushes the hard wood floor, but never seems to get dirty. Her arms look like they could bench press this whole temple, yet her skin looks so smooth, you'd swear that she never worked a day in her life. Her eyes, darker and deeper than the night sky, are wide in confusion and wet with tears. And just like the painting, where her navel should be, your father's gem shines brightly, more radiant than you have ever seen it before.

Everyone, and we mean _everyone_ is reacting differently. Your brothers, much like you, are unable to close their mouths and mimic the appearance of a couple of gasping fish out of water. Grandpa Universe keeps rubbing his eyes, unsure if this is truly reality that he's currently experiencing. Garnet's face, stoic and unchanging at it always is, has a tear trickling down one of its cheeks. Amethyst starts to crawl towards Rose, but stops midway, scared to touch her. Mom looks _destroyed_.

Pearl collapses to her knees and reaches towards Rose's right hand with two pale shaky ones. "Is it… you? Is it really you?" she croaks. You have never seen anyone more happy and distressed at the same time in your life.

Rose Quartz does not answer. None of these people seem to be registering to her, at least not for long. When she does on someone, it's you. She's looking straight at you. She's looking at you for an uncomfortably long time. She seems to have caught on to what happening now, or that what her eyes are telling you. It's so hard to read her; this person that you've never met before in your life. You could guess that she's not happy since she was crying before. Her hand escapes Pearl's as she advances towards you. Pearl reaches toward Rose unsuccessfully, her eyes glued to her back and her knees glued to the floor. Fifty questions each explode in your mind with each of Rose's steps. She looks like she could answer them all. She looks like she could do anything. That scares you for some reason. Your throat betrays you as you try to form words. She picks you up as if you were a twig lying on the ground. She hugs you, throwing your body her shoulder like a wet towel. You can hardly breathe in all of her hair. It tickles your face like someone fluttering their eyelashes against your entire face, only in slow motion.

You hear her gulp down a lump in her throat that you didn't know was there. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice sounding like the most soothing, saddest lullaby.

Those words are far, far from what and who you need right now, but it's a good start.


End file.
